The Days in Lyme
by Morii-chan
Summary: The impression and impact of Anne's visit to Lyme reverberates much farther than she thought possible. Just ask Louisa Musgrove. A/N Formatting Corrected 12/2
1. Chapter 1

James Benwick was walking along the main road towards the Harville's small home when he saw Miss Anne gracefully stepping into a coach in the lane. Frederick's hand guided her efficiently before turning to Miss Henrietta Musgrove, whom required a notable degree more help in embarking.

His heart lurched as the coach door closed on his most trusted friend and newest ally.

The pain was recognizable - a distinct sense of loss, which echoed his less recent wound. It was weak in comparison, and yet had the strength to propel him into a new fit of melancholy. Not a week ago James would have indulged himself in at least a solid hour of pondering this new reaction, but the somber knowledge that Miss Louisa Musgrove now lay still like death in his friends' home weighed him back down to earth.

James trudged on to the house, preparing to gather his things for transport to the inn. In the light of the distressing incident he would give his lodgings for Charles and Mary Musgrove, though the reasoning would not become clear with any affordance of time. Mary Musgrove was the single most disruptive and selfish creature he had met since landing the Laconia, and that she should replace the soft and steady Anne was offensive to him.

The front door swung open easily, as though moved by the momentum of Anne & Frederick's hasty departure. Up the stairs, silent as a ghost down the hallway to the chamber where Miss Louisa lay unmoving. James shuffled around the figures of Mary & Charles, whom sat alongside Louisa's bed not murmuring sweet nothings, but bickering over minutiae regarding their children left at home. 'How disquieting,' he thought to himself as he spread open the mouth of his retired rucksack and filled it with his basic needs for a few nights at the inn.

'Night shirts, spare trousers, two vests, soap,' he recited to himself, mumbling barely above a wheeze. Lastly he gathered a pair of reading glasses & the candle off his nightstand. Finding that he had gathered all the necessaries, James straightened to pay a brief farewell to the couple.

"I shall see you sooner than later, I think." James began, attempting to smile comfortingly as Mary finally met his eyes a good four seconds later.

"Oh, oh-! Do you depart so soon? We had assumed that you'd be rather present, to assist in Louisa's care. You must see how distressed I am, I am by no means able to bear both the sorrow of her injury and the resilience of ongoing nursing with only Charles here to support me-" James bowed abruptly, cutting off her speech.

"Madam, I am only removing myself to the inn to allow yourself and Charles the comfort of proximity to the young lady. I assure you, I will not desert you in your -" he struggled to find an appropriate term, " -hour of need." With that he exited sparing no backward glances to ensure that Mrs. Musgrove would have no opportunity to continue. James trudged back to the main floor, stopping only once more at the library.

Inside the musty room sat Captain Harville and his wife, seated by a large bookshelf in two very comfortable chairs. The Captain held a nightcap, as his wife spoke to him in hushed tones. James interjected, understanding that Mrs. Harville was ruminating on some of the behaviours of her house guests.

"Harville, I take my leave of you." Captain Harville met his gaze, somewhat bewildered.

"Already, Benwick? I do say you've prepared to leave us with the speed of one leaving on a journey, I did not expect it at all from you." His dark features enhanced the look of wounded concern.

Benwick grasped his friends' upper arm with as much nonchalance as he could muster. "Now, I am only to the inn, and only for a few nights. You cannot think that I will be shaken off so easily. I will be considered family, no matter what providence designs." 'Ah,' he thought to himself, 'no, I must keep our shared melancholy to the back of thoughts today.' "Good luck with the Musgroves - I dare say they will need as much care as poor Miss Louisa by and by."

After the three shared a small chuckle at their guests expense, Benwick was off.

The few days of exile Benwick expected turned into weeks, and he took to dreaming of days when company would no longer include Mary Musgrove. His one respite was that Wentworth was returned from the panicked journeying with Miss Anne & Miss Henrietta. Sadly Frederick did not bring Miss Anne back with him.

He confessed this disappointment as they walked along the Cobb together. The weather was very nearly foul, but still yet preferable to the formality of the inn and the morbid silence of the Harville's home. "Miss Anne," James began, "has truly and profoundly comforted me, Wentworth. How can I thank you for bringing her here to Lyme?"

Wentworth did not turn to look at him, instead determinedly staring out at the roiling sea. "With her came misfortune, Benwick. Surely you cannot thank me for both?" Benwick sighed forcefully, feeling the question as a philosopher.

"You ask if I can appreciate a blessing, which came with a price. I say in return -" James stared at the his feet, allowing the silence to stretch. Silence often allowed a certain feeling to creep in as though into one ear, diffusing his mind and then out through the mouth to profess truth. "I say that price must be much steeper than a displacement from my home and a knock on a delicate head for me to regret meeting Anne Elliot."

Wentworth stopped walking. He turned to stare at James fiercely in a manner entirely similar to when Captain Wentworth of the Laconia had demanded to know whom had neglected their duties while on watch. "You speak of her in a way almost too familiar Benwick. What would Fanny say?" Benwick was taken aback, and then felt fury rise quickly. His ears burned with it.

"You would dare to speak of my Fanny as though I have committed a misconduct? Miss Anne and I are kindred spirits in mourning, Wentworth. She and I have experienced irredeemable loss - I can hear it in every word she speaks and I will not endure your censure on the subject." Benwick had progressed from his casual posture to at first a stern attention, until at the end he had emphasized his words with brutal pokes to Wentworth's shoulder.

Wentworth grabbed the offending hand and forced Benwick back a pace - easily done, as Benwick even in the prime of his Captaincy had never matched Wentworth's athleticism. "What right have you to claim any kinship through her loss?" Wentworth glared at him, and Benwick could see the emotions play across his friends face. Benwick held his tongue in check, waiting for silence to do as it often did - force truth to the surface. Wentworth, as usual, was not so patient and chose instead to whirl around, stalking determinedly away from the Cobb and his companion.


	2. Chapter 2

Benwick waited in the foyer for Wentworth to exit the library where the party had gathered for dinner. He paced nervously, knowing that Wentworth - and likely any other of his friends, would be disapproving of his decision.

'But,' James mumbled to himself, 'it cannot be endured, not again. To be without like mindedness for eternity.' James abandoned his murmurings as Frederick finally appeared in the hallway. Frederick made as if to coldly brush passed, his aim apparently to drive slivers of hurt into the heart of his poet-comrade. James determinedly waylaid him with a firmly outstretched arm.

"Frederick, I am going with the Musgroves. I'm going to Uppercross, and I am going to continue my acquaintance with Miss Anne." Frederick stepped back a bare inch, attempting to hide his discomfort by adjusting his cuffs.

"Oh? And why would you stop me to say such a thing?" James sighed heavily, his brow furrowed, his eyes searching the expression on Fredericks' face for a clue.

"I want to know why this upsets you, even though you must know that I will never betray Fanny. I've been through it all, but it doesn't make sense." James looked down, watching the buttoning and unbuttoning of Frederick's cuffs. "I cannot tread on, knowing that there is something you've hidden from me." Frederick harrumphed, annoyed.

"Benwick, it's _Anne,_ you idiot. You were there when we went through this. Before you ever met Fanny, I told you the damned story, I warned you of the peril of attachment. _It was Anne."_ Benwick's eyes widened slowly, darting back up to his friend. Horror flashed across his face. "And now, as I'm trapped here, inadvertently committed to a child, you will go off to be the lifelong friend of the last woman of substance likely living in this country."

Wentworth continued on, now feeling the petty sorrow of his plight intensified by the sympathy in Benwick's expression. "It's my own fault, obviously. But must I listen as you wax poetic on her "indescribable loss", that which I committed and maintained just to save my injured pride?"

Benwick began to stutter - "I d-didn't know. _That_ Anne was supposed to be careless, malleable - How would I have recognized-"

Wentworth began to push past. "I ride tomorrow to visit her, to give her the news that Louisa has woken and appears to be healing. After this, I expect I will be expected to make the assumed engagement a formal one." He looked back at his friend, his stern face finally relenting in response to the compassion on Benwick's. "How can I fault you, James? Good night."

Wentworth left. James meandered back to the inn shortly after, no longer finding joy in the house where Louisa slept.


	3. Chapter 3

Louisa gazed around the room, collecting her thoughts. The easiest attainable details were that she was still abed in the late morning, that the room was modest but comfortable, and that her nightgown was slightly too big and not of her preferred style. Her toes were warm, feeling residual heat from where a heater must have been placed. As there appeared to be no demands on her at this moment in time, she did not attempt to sit up.

Instead, she pursued what should have been a simple goal - to lift her arm and turn her body away from the grey light which emanated from the window. This pursuit, to her surprise, was in vain as her arms felt as though weighted with the sacks of salt she'd seen down at the Cobb in the days prior.

 _The Cobb._ A pain rose behind her eyes, she squinted at the memory leaking back through the protective muddle her mind had erected. The ghost of previous adrenaline whooshed from her gut up through her throat, the hand she'd attempted to raise fell back to the bed. Quickly the light from the room vanished, her eyes now tightly shut to prevent the stubborn tears of shame and fear from resuming their favorite path down her face.

In the end, there was no harm in a brief allowance of the feelings. Louisa had day after day continued through this progression - first of languor, then fear, followed inevitably by shame. She felt strongly that last stage was without doubt the true battle she'd been facing. The fear, she assumed, would fade. In good time she would once again stand and walk the Cobb. At the end of her convalescence she might even jump and laugh and dance with her sister. Yet there was one pursuit that would never be repeated.

To think that at the beginning of their adventure, her feelings and behavior had been encouraged. She remembered the day he arrived, a shiny new penny to marvel at and covet. Captain Frederick Wentworth was handsome, he was of means, and he was not so serious as to be unapproachable. In fact, he seemed playful and engaging in the best ways. His manners were genteel - far better than Charles Hayter to whom Henrietta was obligated to favor. All together, he seemed too princely to indulge them too long.

How she wished he had followed her expectations then. Perhaps then a semblance of reason would have prevailed.


	4. Chapter 4

"You must allow me to say, this is quite intolerable," Mary Musgrove interjected, quite at the displeasure of her companions. She had whispered, as most had taken to doing, in the Harville's home where Louisa rested. "He has been gone for at least two weeks now, it is quite obvious that it is an attempt at distance."

Benwick stood apart from those seated, preferring not to engage directly in the measured battle of wills between Mrs. Harville & the ladies Musgrove. The home Benwick had found in Lyme, his roost and salvation after the terrible new of his darling's departure from this cursed existence, had been disrupted by the noxious company of the Musgroves for a full month. Wentworth had come and gone once again, having finally filled his duty of communicating Louisa's recovery to Uppercross and to, well, others. The captain at large may have stayed a while at Lyme, had a scheme to achieve some measure of happiness not encroached upon James Benwick's romantic heart.

James may have lost his chance at divine partnership, but he would not hear of his new friend suffering an equal pain for the sake of propriety.

Louisa herself made increasingly pleasant company, second only to Miss Anne, which was a balm to the sore. 'It could be wishful thinking,' James pondered as he allowed his mind to drift from the petty gossip of the room. 'There would be no harm in convincing oneself to take comfort in a chosen future.'

"Now Mrs. Musgrove, you mustn't assume such things. You may ask Miss Louisa if she had expectation and I dare say she will deny such an association." Mrs. Harville soothed the ruffled busy-body as best she could. What she claimed was true, Benwick mused. 'Somehow, Louisa's sense of dignity overcame her youthful optimism after the blow to the head. It's unfortunate she came through damage to reach such clarity, and yet how could I complain.' Benwick began to turn away from the group, trying to find a tome that held a verse he was quite sure shared a similar narrative. His dismissal of the general discussion caused some concern.

"Captain Benwick, do you wish to distance yourself from this topic? Or have I misinterpreted your removal?" Mary spoke poniards, intending to force a reaction from that which she had long considered feeble and unable to withstand the pressures of casual society. She was disproven.

"No, madam, I merely thought of a volume I think Miss Louisa would find particular interest in when we continue our reading." He paused, turning partially to face the group. 'I'll lay the foundation here, then.' "She has quite a voracious mind for prose, and I suspect there is some poetry that might gather her courage for her inevitable journey home." James allowed his voice to slow, as though the portent of Louisa leaving this house gave him pain. His brow softened, to convey he thought of her fondly.

This performance stunned the group. Of course, Benwick had never truly paid attention to the dynamic of the group at large. It should make perfect sense that he would have missed the obvious signs that Miss Louisa was spoken for. Captain and Mrs. Harville's faces grew dark, sensing all was not right. Their Benwick would not say these things willingly, not at all. That he said them in their home was almost blasphemous.

Benwick knew instantly as his true friends became distrustful. He sighed inwardly, knowing that they must be fooled as well to truly save Wentworth. Later, when all was settled he would be able to explain himself fully. Later, once he was wed and Wentworth free.


	5. Chapter 5

The next time Louisa awoke, it was for tea. In the week immediately after the Cobb, she had not woken for tea time. As time progressed, she had woken but maintained the semblance of sleep to avoid the inevitable discussion of the future. This motive changed as she realized with whom precisely she shared tea. Her first encounter began as a soft awakening to a voice speaking.

" _In measured verse I'll now rehearse_

 _The charms of lovely Anna:_

 _And, first, her mind is unconfined_

 _Like any vast savannah." *_

His voice was measured, he seemed to ponder the words as he proceeded. Yet they did not sound unfamiliar to him; it was as though the poem was an old friend. 'How surprising that Captain Benwick would know of any verse not dedicated to oppressing sadness,' Louisa thought to herself. He continued on, describing the virtues of some unknown woman. Upon reaching the poem's end, she heard the rustle of paper and the soft clink of china. She wondered if she had awoken at the end of the reading, or at the beginning. How long would she be required to maintain the impression of unconscious slumber?

Not long, apparently. The rustle was of the book closing, and the clink was the returning of a tea cup to a saucer. Sounds of a chair being pushed back, the door opening, Mrs. Harville being called soon followed. Louisa's shoulders relaxed, the pressure of the tiny lie relieved.

The interlude repeated itself with some middling regularity. Benwick came to join her for tea, and for many visits Louisa lay for all appearances asleep, unsure of how to speak with him in such a private setting. She was quite sure that if Benwick had been any less obvious about his distress with the passing of Fanny Harville the entire idea of his readings would have been considered quite improper.

Benwick entered the chamber of the young girl he had begun to consider his charge, noting only once the door was closed that she was not asleep or even feigning it in their routine fashion. He briefly considered abjuring the room in the chance that she would prefer to be alone, but determined against it as she must have been expecting him. She may have chosen to listen to his readings as an unacknowledged audience, but Benwick had been able to tell from the studied stillness when his charge had woken.

He strode over to the chair placed at the head of her bed, set the teacup and saucer down on the side table with a soft " _chink"_ and seated himself. The book was now gathered from the crook of his arm and cracked open in unhurried movements. Once he was settled, he met her gaze, expecting the girlish face to be blushing at the unexplained impropriety. To his great surprise he did not see a young girl of seventeen, but the morose gaze of a woman disenchanted.

"Captain, thank you for your readings, they have been the highlight of my days for quite some time." Here he nodded, attempting to recover from his surprise and display the humility her comment required.

"I am happy to oblige, madam, and provide the best company within my capacity." Benwick rested his eyes briefly on the top of the page he'd opened to, but quickly regained the courage to face this unknown person directly. "Do you have any requests for this afternoon?"

She smiled gently at his inquiry. "I do, in fact. Might I count on you for a measure of our little group, now that I have made such a mighty fool of myself?" Benwick started, immediately uncomfortable.

"Ah- the measure of our group? Perhaps I do not understand you fully. Your family has recently arrived in Lyme to be close to you during your recovery. The only members of our party that have had to return to their engagements elsewhere are Miss Anne, and-" He paused. "I understand. You wish to know the measure of Wentworth."

Louisa watched as Benwick's face shifted from panic to resignation. She dropped her gaze from Benwick's face to her folded hands atop the quilt that cover her bed. "Captain, you are the only visitor I have whom I can trust to provide an unedited summary of how events have played out." She waited a full three heartbeats before raising her gaze again, hopeful that the silence would have emboldened Benwick, or at least made him too uncomfortable to ignore her question. She noted immediately that he was gazing at the window, and her hope dimmed.

"Miss Louisa, you must remember that I joined your party late and cannot accurately predict how your family perceives the impact of your accident. I can assure you that all whom I speak with find your full recovery to be the only matter that concerns them." She narrowed her eyes, frustrated.

"How can that be true? Captain Wentworth has not been to see me, not in weeks. This must be a distressing turn of events for my mother and brother at the very least."

Benwick hemmed slightly before answering. "Although he has been called to his brother's home, he is still considered to be a great and interested friend of you and your sister." Here, he would not look at her - luckily, Louisa's eyes were screwed tight again in an effort to prevent tears from falling.

"If only he would _stay away_ ," Louisa croaked, attempting to keep her voice conversational by dropping the volume and prevent Captain Benwick from hearing the sob. He was not fooled. "He and everyone have made a mockery of me, and now I will be obliged to marry for the insult."

"What?!" Benwick leaned in to better gauge her face. "Am I to believe that you blame Wentworth for what happened on the Cobb?"

"No!" Louisa blurted in response. "I became that stupid flirting girl, I led myself here. Yet I refuse to believe that I should be sold to any passing man that can be amused by naive flirtation." She turned to Benwick. "How can I be happy with the man who has witnessed my greatest folly?"

Benwick stared at her, befuddled by the idea. Where had Louisa gone in her own thoughts that such shame had taken root in her mind? When did she foster such distaste for her early enthusiasm in the idea of a future with Frederick?

He leaned back to his safe position on the chair, and returned his gaze to the book he intended to read aloud. "You should trust your friends more Miss Louisa. I'm sure that once we've all recovered from the shock of the accident that thing will be much clearer. I'll start where we left off last week."

And the subject was left for the day.

A/N - Poem written by Jane Austen, not mine not mine


End file.
